


Proper Kind of Monster

by BellatrixPeregrina



Category: iZombie (TV)
Genre: F/M, Light BDSM, S01E02 Alternate, Wicked Sexy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-02
Updated: 2016-12-02
Packaged: 2018-09-03 17:55:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8724157
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellatrixPeregrina/pseuds/BellatrixPeregrina
Summary: When you're excited to find another living, breathing (okay maybe not exactly) zombie, it just would be too good to be true for him to not be the kind of jerk Greeks write epics about, wouldn't it? He's a monster. Too bad they have so much in common... mostly dietary restrictions.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Sometimes you need to write the smut you want to see in the world. Bit rough because I needed to just post this so I could sleep.

It’s not a real shocker that the loser, drug dealing guy who tried to feel you up at a crazy party turns out to be just as shitty of a zombie. I’m not really sure what I was expecting. Maybe for his not-so-near death experience to have changed Blaine DeBeers for the better?

Mine… might have. Difficult to say right now, but as lame as having to eat brains on the daily is, it’s about as cool as having murder solving visions and talent on tap. Or- saw? Whatever. Sounds like a comic book either way.

I think it’s just hard because, well, he’s the one person-thing that knows what I’m going through right now. I’m still furious he turned me, but really what’s the alternative? Human Liv wouldn’t have made it off the boat. I’d have been lying here face up while Ravi sliced and diced me.

I blow out a breath of pure frustration that I caught him up to the same no good I expected. The breath doesn’t really help. I think it defeats the purpose of deep breathing exercises when it takes more effort to breathe than not.

Speaking of which, how long could I go without breathing? Now there’s one thing Ravi hasn’t tested yet. I look up at the clock and take in a long deep breath before I start counting…

~~~

30 minutes and- I break my world record attempt as I’m spun around forcibly. It takes my oxygen-deprived (or maybe it’s brain deprived – could I stop breathing if I were eating brains instead?) brain a second to focus on the wonder blond and the words he’s saying. “Wait, say again?” I mumble.

“Are. You. Okay.” He says through gritted teeth like he’s said it a few times.

“Oh, yeah. Definitely.” I blink at how close he is and try to remember what I was doing before. I think I was being mad at him for being a prick.

I only realize the death grip he must have had on my shoulders after it turns to something less bruising. “Well, what the fuck are you doing then, babe? Vision?” The harsh edge of his last words seems buried beneath the usual baseline of snark.

I narrow my eyes. “If you must know, I was checking to see if I needed to breathe. The answer is maybe.” His lips twitch and he looks like he’s going to start laughing at me. I don’t want to hear him laughing. “Why are you even here? Don’t you have more drugs to deal with your buddies?”

He looks honestly confused. “Buddies?”

“Don’t even! Don’t pretend you weren’t up to the same bullshit that got us here in the first place! I SAW YOU. I had a whole right frontal lobe packaged up for you, nice and pretty, and I saw what a waste it would be giving it to you when you’re still a drug-dealing son-of-a-bitch,” I snarl out. I’m almost surprised at how angry I am. I mean, I knew I was mad but I thought I was more disappointed after a solid night of tossing and turning it over in my head. Hell, I’m furious enough the heat in my eyes might be visible.

His lip curls up. “Shows what you know. I was telling the sods off because I WON’T work for my old boss. What’s it like being such a noble and lofty equestrian, Ms. Moore? Care to enlighten the rest of us?” His tone is enough that I want to slap him.

Apparently the impulse control of my last meal wasn’t all that great because my right arm jerks out of his reach before lashing towards his face. Surprise then rage take over his features before he grabs my wrist and jerks it up behind my back, already pinning my other wrist to the table. His eyes are a little redder but his voice is eerily calm as he pushes the rest of his weight against me, “Really, Olivia? Did you take a bite of someone with anger management issues?”

The pain is getting through to me in a way only brains have for, well, an unlifetime. My throat feels tight as I grit out, “You don’t know me. Not a damn thing. Not who I was or who I was going to be but can’t anymore, because you took it from me.” I’m actually breathing hard and it’s enough to brush my chest against him. Oh, I forgot to wear a bra today. It wasn’t actually an issue before just now. Umm. When it got… cold… colder in here. I pull my gaze from his, catching brief guilt before he covers it with his characteristic oozing charm. I instead try to pull my hands free and jerk my body against his to dislodge him.

He doesn’t budge a bit. Just tightens his grip, presumably so I can’t hit him in his stupid face again and again. “Olivia.” The ability to make my name sound like a combination of an admonishment and plea apparently no longer the sole prerogative of my mother. I ignore him.

After a few seconds of me struggling, he gets tired of it and jerks my arm up even more. Enough that I go limp just to make it stop. His stubble scrapes against my temple and I feel the warmth of his breath on my ear. “Olivia, you can keep wriggling all you want, I certainly won’t stop you,” he says as he grinds his hips against me. I have a brief moment of disgust and anger and indignation that don’t quite stop the pulse of heat I feel between my legs. 

He continues, oblivious to the moral turpitude of my nether regions, “But, I didn’t come here to fight you. I’m sorry. I said it yesterday, but here it is again. I’m sorry I scratched you. I wish the circumstances were different, but it’s not like I planned it. Besides,” he butts my jaw to the side with his head. I can see another corpse, the nonambulatory kind, staring blankly at the ceiling. “Is that what you’d rather? That was the other option, you know.”

It’s scary that I had that exact same thought. I was hoping I hadn’t been right there. “In addition,” he continues, his chest rumbling against my increasingly harder to ignore nipples, “if I were the dastardly villain you’ve made me out to be, you think I would have stopped with just a scratch? You really think that if I had wanted to hurt you, that I would have let you go without grabbing a fistful of your hair and breaking your little head open for your brains?” His words send hot fear through my belly, but it flutters uncertainly as he buries his nose against my hair and presses his body against mine. His forearms feel hard against my back and ribs. He’s not trying to hurt me now as much as trap me.

“Or that I wouldn’t have sank my teeth into your pretty neck?” His lips follow that thought and I feel them brush against the spot under my ear where any amount of pressure always made me moan. The edge of teeth turns that feeling into something sharper and fiercer and I’m surprised at the whimper that escapes. He sucks a bit of my skin into his mouth, tasting me with his tongue even as his teeth hold me fast. When he pulls back, so slowly, dragging that grating pressure against nerve endings more raw than deadened now, I realize I’m panting and that I’ve arched my pelvis against his and wrapped my legs around his waist.

I don’t do this sort of thing. Really. Not that there’s anything wrong with this (except for well, Blaine), but I’ve been a one man, start with a kiss kind of girl since I’ve even dreamed of sex. Even so I catch myself thinking that at this height it would only take a few inches of his zipper and a tug of my panties and he’d be inside me. Maybe zombies need less foreplay, because my underwear feel significantly more damp than the situation warrants. Or maybe it’s just because I’ve been on one hell of a dry spell. Oooh yeah, that’s it.

Intense, but bright blue and in control, eyes fill my half-lidded vision. He speaks against my lips, “Oh, don’t fool yourself. If I had been any proper kind of monster, I’d of fucked you till you couldn’t have run away. You’d have screamed yourself hoarse begging.” He lets go of my wrist and scrapes his nails down across my cloth covered torso towards my crotch.

My head falls back as his thumb brushes my clit through the dry cloth of my bunched up dress and the warm wet of my panties. I grab his shoulder for balance and to have something for my nails to bite into so I don’t scream. He turns his head to the side with a grin, and he places a mockingly chaste kiss on the back of my hand.

He looks… Delicious. Sinfully decadent and wicked sexy. I open my mouth without checking in with my brain about what we should be saying. My voice is particularly husky, “Why, Mr. DeBeers, you didn’t strike me as the rapist type.”

“Oh, apologies, Ms. Moore. My mistake. I wasn’t clear.” His eyes crinkle up and he licks his lower lip. “You’d have been begging me TO fuck you, not to stop.” He practically purrs, “To pleeeeease let you come, and then that you can’t come anymore or you’ll die.” The dress is tugged out of the way and his hand presses against my swollen lips while his thumb immediately finds my so fucking sensitive clit and I might melt right there. I don’t hesitate at all to buck my hips against his hand and pull him closer with my thighs.

My inner walls flutter and my vision tunnels in briefly as I manage an “Ohhhh.” I feel my own breath hot against my lips. “Yeah, that makes much more sense.” Higher brain function having been thoroughly shut down, I press my lips to his smirk and see if he tastes as good as he feels and smells.

He pushes back against me with closed lips while he plunges a finger into my cunt, working roughly over my g-spot and circling my clit with quick circles of his thumb. A scream bubbles up my throat that he swallows as he flicks his tongue against my upper lip. My muscles are locking up and I can feel my nails biting into his skin through the thin material of his shirt.

I pull back with wild, red eyes and just, fucking, champion word vomit an impressive string of incoherent phrases. “Oh god, fuck, Blaine. I’m so – I can’t, think I might – Please, please, please, Blaine, don’t – Blaaaine,“ I whine his name like I’m dying.

By the way, grins that wolfish don’t belong on human faces. “C’mon, love, come for me, Liv.” And I actually could not tell you what he did after that. I simultaneously turn to a liquid pool of spasming, spurting, boneless pleasure and full on zombie mode trying to claw his skin off and bite through his lip.

The next thing I see is his face above me. He looks mildly curious and altogether too pleased. He’s brushing my sweaty hair out of my face as I soak in the coldness from tile on my back. I turn my face into his hand and briefly wonder where his other one is before I’m clutching at the wrist between my thighs because I actually might die if I have one single more orgasm and explode into thousands of pieces of zombie goo – He’s shaking with laughter as he raises his finger to his lips. Crap, I said that out loud, didn’t I? But I can’t stop watching as he sucks his finger into his mouth and drags it back out, absent the slickness I can feel drenching my undies and the floor under my ass.

I feel pretty shaky. Like just ran a mile or woke up dead shaky. “So,” I mutter, “you still want that brain?”  
He raises an eyebrow at me and then licks his palm clean. I could have sworn that I was incapable of any further orgasms for twenty to life, but with that visual I can feel the persistent beating of my racing heart between my thighs. “Mmmmm, no, I’m good.” He presses a kiss to my temple. “Thanks for lunch, Liv Moore.”

I stare up at him stupidly as he gets up. He looks down at me loftily and cups his groin, which is so obviously and perfectly hard. “But I can fend for myself,” he murmurs, stroking himself while looking down at the pile of orgasm disheveled Liv he’s left in his wake. He winks at me. 

The bastard. Winks at me.

And then he walks away. “It’s a monster eat monster world. Every zombie for himself.”


End file.
